Page 11 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
“Oh. Right. Sorry.” He takes a small step back and fights the half-cocked grin on his lips. “But you’re going to have to get used to us sharing it, since it looks like we’re going to be shacking up together for the next couple of days until Darcy gets back and tells Smitty that your time’s up.”
That grin comes at me full force once he knows his comment has hit its mark with my sputtering lack of response.
“You’re frustrating and irritating and . . .” And handsome and too close and too many things I don’t want to cloud my space when men are the last thing on my current agenda.
“And you’re still standing here naked in a towel. And socks. I’ve had a long few weeks. I’m tired. It’s late.” He looks at his watch and then back to me. “Why don’t we go to bed and we can figure out the rest in the morning?”
“It’s not that easy,” I argue.
“Yeah, actually it is. You lie on your bed, close your eyes, and drift off to sleep. The only decision you need to make is back, stomach, or side. See? Easy.”
I hate that he’s turned on the boyish charm, because it’s much more endearing for some reason than the naked-man-in-the-bathroom thing. “How do I know that you’re not—”
“I assure you I’m a lot of things, but a creep or a murderer or a rapist isn’t one of them,” he states, stealing the thoughts from my head.
“Like you’d tell me if you were.”
He laughs. “If I were one, I already had plenty of opportunities.” He shrugs. “Besides, Smitty vouched for me. You heard him. Shut off your mind. Go get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
And with a flash of a smile and a nod of his head, he enters the bedroom next to mine and shuts the door with a resounding thud. I’m left staring at the faded wood door with unspoken words on my tongue and confusion cluttering my mind.
“Well then . . . there’s that.” It’s all I can say as I slip into my own bedroom and stand there in the darkness, hunger forgotten, shower no longer a priority, and attempt to process the last twenty minutes.
I reach back and twist the handle on the door and test that it’s actually locked, but as I sit back on the bed, I wonder if the lock is as shoddy as so many other things in this house. Besides, lock or not, if he wanted to open the door and get to me, one swift kick of his foot against the handle would grant him access.
The notion settles about the same time I hear his door open. I suck in my breath, my own thoughts and jaded reality melding a bit too much for my own liking, but when I hear his steps head down the hall toward the kitchen, I relax some.
Should I push the dresser in front of the door, just in case? I’ve slept with enough fear in my lifetime; this is one place I don’t want to have to do that.
Just as I’m about to move to the dresser and test its weight, there’s a knock on my door. I jump out of my skin and feel stupid immediately. It’s not like I didn’t know he was here or anything.
“Just in case you’re still scared of me and need some protection,” he says with a chuckle through the door, which leaves me more confused until I see a glint off the moonlight as something slides beneath it. “Night, Socks.”
I wait to hear his door shut again before I move toward mine and switch on the light. Fighting the laugh that falls from my mouth is futile when I look down to see the mini-blind wand on the floor.
Smart-ass.
Unsure what to do and feeling completely unsettled, I leave the wand where it is, throw on some pajamas, and slide into the bed.
But sleep doesn’t come regardless of how tired I am. My mind goes a million miles an hour as I think about what just happened.
The bathroom standoff. The naked dance. The ludicrousness of having to defend myself with a mini-blind wand. All of it.
And yet none of it matters, because he’s still here and I’m still left trying to figure out how I’m going to make him leave.
The funny thing is, I should have been petrified, especially on the heels of my freak-out tonight at the bar. And I was at first. My heart was pounding and adrenaline was racing, but not once did I run away and cower like I used to. There’s something to be said for that.
Baby steps.
At least I just proved to myself that I’m making some.
Chapter 2
GETTY
The sound of a hammer jars me awake.
The sky’s just turning light, and I want to snuggle back under the covers and sleep a little longer. But when I rub my feet together, there are socks on them, and I never sleep with socks on my feet.
